All in Good Fun
by Snow Duchess
Summary: As Hermione's paper collided with the side of his head, Harry mused that after almost six years, he probably should have seen it coming.


**All in Good Fun**

_Just a little something I came up with while watching _Half-Blood Prince_.__ A shame they didn't do more with this scene, but I suppose the show must go on. Harry/Hermione fluff. Whether it's friendship or something more, take it as you will._

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><p>The Gryffindor common room was—as the name implied—a common place for many of the House's residents to spend their free time. Some were studying while others chatted quietly. A few were playing a friendly game of exploding snap. All were paying little attention when Hermione Granger—the exceedingly bright sixth-year witch—asked Harry Potter—the Chosen One—to see the book in his possession.<p>

Of course, Harry's dramatic refusal to his friend's simple request ensured the other students were no longer focused on their own activities. He had jumped up from the floor by the fireplace and now stood dead center in the common room, a tattered potions book held protectively at his side.

Hermione was also getting to her feet, her eyes narrowing. "What?"

"No," he repeated, a little less confident when faced with the witch's hardening expression.

"Why not?"

Instinctively backing up several steps as she drew closer, Harry glanced down at the book in hopes it would provide him with a suitable excuse. Maybe if he appealed to her deep-seated reverence for all things literary…

"The binding is fragile."

"_The binding is fragile?_" she repeated incredulously.

Or not. Unwilling to back down, the boy nodded once. "Yeah."

The witch shook her head disapprovingly. "Give me the book, Harry."

"No."

"Give it to me!"

"No!"

His Seeker-sharp vision saw Ginny reach for it out of the corner of his eye, and he quickly jerked away. He spun almost madly as he avoided crashing into a couple third-years, soon forced to loft the book high over his head away from Hermione's groping fingers. Gaining a lead, he stuck out his free hand as though willing his friend to a stop.

"Hermione, you're not going to get this book from me."

The witch crossed her arms. "Really? And why is that?"

"Because I'm…bigger and…stronger than you," he answered uncertainly.

Truth be told, Harry wasn't sure that mattered when it came to Hermione. All she had to do was pull out her wand and—

"Don't make me hex you."

—do that.

"You can't!" he reminded keenly. "You're not allowed to use magic on another student except under teacher supervision." He paused, searching for that last deterrent. "I'll report you to McGonagall!"

"I could do the same, you know."

"But you won't."

"Not if you _give me that book_!"

Harry dodged to the side as Hermione leapt towards him. He tried to slip around her, but she caught him around the waist, tripping them both to their knees. He hugged the book close to his chest and wrenched his torso side to side in attempt to shake the witch off. When her hold loosened, he jumped to his feet and circled the sofa, using it to keep a comfortable gap between them. Ron shot up from his seat and backed away to a safe distance, clearly not wanting to get caught between Harry's cheekiness and Hermione's wrath. Even Hedwig flapped her wings nervously as she readjusted her perch.

"Really, it's not that big a deal," he tried to reason.

"If it's not that big a deal, then _give me the book_!"

Unable to help himself, Harry smirked at her frustration and waved the book tauntingly. "Come get it, Granger."

He saw her scan the room, likely for projectiles, before her eyes lingered on the large bundle of orange fur crouching on the edge of one of the end tables. Crookshanks was staring at him in that unsettlingly knowing way of his. In fact, Harry wouldn't be surprised if Hermione convinced the feline to join the fray.

Instead, she made to dart around the sofa, but he did the same. Ending up on opposite sides of the couch again, he opened his mouth to try to dissuade her once more, but Hermione was already on the move. Harry hopped over the back of the sofa and started to round it again, but the witch was a step ahead and already moving to cut him off.

She sprang and swiped at the book, inadvertently tackling him over the sofa's arm onto the cushions and pinning him down under her smaller frame. Harry squirmed underneath her, desperately trying to stretch his hand beyond her reach as she fumbled blindly for the book. Incensed, Hermione sat up onto her knees, effectively straddling his hips.

"Damnit, Harry, give it to me!"

The boy sat up a bit and craned his neck to look at Ron, eyes wide. "Did you hear that language?" he asked, feigning shock. "I don't think our girl's as innocent as she lets on."

With a growl, Hermione lunged again, securing a grip on the corner of the book with one hand and Harry's wrist in the other as he fell back flat. When she tried shaking it loose, Harry used his free hand to poke at her exposed side, tickling mercilessly. The witch squealed and contorted, one good thrash sending her tumbling off the sofa onto the floor.

Harry peeked over the edge of the cushion to check on his friend, who was taking deliberately deep breaths. "You all right?"

Hermione exhaled petulantly from her position on the floor. "That was cheating."

Harry rolled onto his back, casually propping his leg onto his knee as he opened the book. "You're the one who wanted to play rough. Anyway, you look cozy down there."

The girl pushed herself up, boring holes into his head as he pretended a passage on the Volubilis potion. "Well, then maybe you should _join me_!"

A sharp tug on his arm sent Harry sprawling to the floor, and Hermione pounced once again, gaining a firm hold on her target. After struggling with him for a few seconds, she dropped a hand to his ribs and exacted her revenge, sending Harry into an involuntary convulsion of laughter. His hands slackened, allowing the witch to rip the book out of his grasp and scramble to her feet, dancing away as he swiftly followed.

"'Property of the Half-Blood Prince,'" Hermione read aloud, batting down Harry's hands and stiff-arming him to keep him at bay. "Who's the Half-Blood Prince?"

"Dunno," Harry admitted, giving up. "I was hoping you would."

"You were hoping—" Hermione let out huff of exasperation and threw the book at him. "Then _why _didn't you just tell me when I asked?"

"Because this was loads better. You're adorable when you're all flustered." At her glare, Harry wiggled the book in the air with a smug grin.

"You're a prat."

"All in good fun, 'Mione. Don't be angry."

Harry plopped himself back down in his spot in front of the fireplace and opened the potions book. After a few seconds, he looked up at his friend, finding her arms crossed as she stared at him expectantly.

"So, you really haven't heard of the—?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, that settles it, then." Harry was about to turn back to his reading when he realized how quiet the common room had become, along with the odd look Ron (and Ginny and many of his other dormmates) was giving him. "What?"

"Have you two gone mad?" Ron asked, sounding more than a little unnerved by his friends' behavior.

Harry glanced at Hermione. The witch had lowered herself to the floor beside him, re-immersing herself in her paper. He noted the wild disarray of her hair, the rumple of her clothes, and the faint bit of color lingering in her cheeks as she attempted to ignore the attention she had brought on herself. His earlier observation held true: Hermione was adorable when she was flustered.

"Definitely," he answered.

As Hermione's paper collided with the side of his head, Harry mused that after almost six years, he probably should have seen it coming.


End file.
